29 F«. 





Drama in 5 Acts. 



J 



HENRY FUEHRER. 



BROOKLYN, N. Y, : 

Jacob F. Becker, Printer, 149 Scholes Street. 
1882. 



ft 



m 



i"'i. 



1 



Drama in 5 Acts. 



W 



HENRY FUEHRER. 



3H*^U -w 



BROOKLYN, N. Y. : 
Jacob F. Becker, Printer, 149 Scholea Street. 

1882. 






CHARACTERS REPRESENTED : 



William Russel, a rich brewer of New York. 

Catherine, his wife. 

Rose, 1 

Michael, )- their children. 

Paul, J 

Alfred Strong, a friend of Paul's. 

Mrs. Weller. 

Cora, her daughter. 

Scribbler, a lawyer. 

Crab, his clerk. 

Father Martin, a priest. 

Tom Ryan, an apprentice in Russel's brewery. 

Hannah, a servant-girl in Russel's house. 

Brewers, servants, <fcc. 

Time : The present. 

Scene of action : New York. 



"T^sH ?4#c ?^/^ 



Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1882. by Henry Fuehrer, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



^.CT I. 

Scene I. A room in the house of William Russel in 
New York. 

Tom. (alone) Now, it is a fact. Ale and beer are 
delicious drinks. But when people enjoy them, they do 
not think of the poor fellows, who have to work sixteen 
or eighteen hours every day to provide them with these 
luxuries. Yes, brewing beer is no child's play. A tailor, 
shoemaker or other mechanic, after working eight or 
ten hours a day, can go home and do as he likes. But 
brewers, (and I tell you they are not to be despised,) 
never get through with their work. Other people can 
take a walk with their sweethearts, but I, poor fellow, 
must be content with catching a glimpse of my sweet 
Hannah once in a while. Oh, Hannah ! Hannah ! I 
love you so dearly ! Why, there she is now. 

Scene II. Enter Hannah. 

Tom. How do you do, my dear ? 

Hannah. Take a care, sir. You know, I have for- 
bidden you to speak to me in that familiar manner. 

Tom. But my dear Hannah, how can I help it, when 
my heart is full of aifection and love for you? 

Hannah. I don't want you to call me "dear Hannah." 
My name is "Miss Hannah." 

Tom. Now, don't be so cruel. I tell you, if you 
continue to treat me that way, I'll, I'll 

Hannah. Well, what ? 

Tom. They will find my corpse in one of the large 
brewing-tanks some day — and then — 

Hannah. Go away. You wouldn't commit suicide 
on account of me. 

Tom. Yes, I will, and forever afterwards your con- 
science will torment you and blame you for causing 
my death. 

Hannah. How solemn that sounds. 



Tom. See, Hannah. Since I first came here you 
have always been very kind and friendly to me. I was 
led to believe that sometime in the future, after I had 
become a man, you would be mine. Since I conceived 
that hope, I have worked and striven hard to become an 
expert at my trade. I said nothing to you, because I 
could not yet ask you for your hand. Of late your be- 
havior towards me has changed. You've grown distant 
and haughty towards me, but to young master Michael 
you show decided preference. 

Hannah, {piqued) Tom — Mr. Ryan ! — 

Tom. Yes, Hannah. And since I have begun to 
speak of this affair, let me give you a little piece of ad- 
vice. Michael is my master's son and it would ill belit 
me to say aught against him. Yet, I must caution you, 
be on your guard. Yours would not be the first heart 
broken by him — and Hannah, if he should break your 
heart, mine would break too. {rushes off sobbing) 

Hannah, [alone) What's that? Shall I laugh or be 
angry at him? I never saw him so before. He must 
have noticed that Michael pays court to me. But is 
that his business ? He has no right to pry into my af- 
fairs. If Michael suits me better than he, he has no 
right to complain. Michael is a splendid young fellow 
and what's more, he's the son of a rich man. What of 
it, if I am only a poor servant- girl ? America is a free 
country, and here many a servant-girl has married the 
son of her master. — Yet Tom must love me dearly,' 
otherwise the knowledge of my preference for Michael 
would not have moved him so deeply, {lost in thought) 
Do I really prefer Michael ? No. I think if I were to 
consult my heart alone, Tom would be my choice. But 
Michael is rich and can provide a splendid future for 
me. Ah, poor Tom, poor Tom. 

Scene HI. Enter' Michael Mussel- 
Michael. Good morning, my dear Hannah. 
Hannah, {cooly) Good morning, sir. 
Michael. What makes you so cool this morning? 
Hannah. Why should I be unusually warm ? 
Michael. For the simple reason, that no one is at 

home but you and I. 
Hannah. And Tom. 
Michael. No, I sent him off just now for a bag of 

malt. Everybody else has gone to Hoboken to receive 



my brother Paul, who arrives from Europe to-day. Arid 
as we are all alone in the house — I thought — I wanted — 

Hannah. Well ? 

Michael, (confusedly) I wanted to — (carr easing her) 
You are not afraid to be alone with me, are you? 

Hannah. I should say not. 

Michael. Because you love me, my dear, that is the 
reason, is it not ? (tries to kiss her.) 

Hannah, (pushes him away) No, that isn't the rea- 
son at all ; but because I am stronger than you. (takes 
a defiant attitude.) 

Michael, (aside) The devil ! (to Hannah) You know, 
my dear girl, that I love you. 

Hannah. No, I could not say, that I am fully con- 
vinced of that. 

Michael. Oh, but I do. (tries to embrace her) Little 
shrew ! See, we are all alone. Let us have a pleasant 
hour all by ourselves, (aside) Dang it ! I stand here 
like a school-boy; she does not or will not understand 
me. 

Hannah, (aside) He looks at me with such a cat-like 
glare. I begin to be afraid of him after all. But he 
shall not notice it. 

Tom appears at the door with a bag of malt on his back. 

Michael, (advances again) Come, Hannah, give me 
your hand, (takes her hand) And now a kiss, (attempts 
to kiss her) 

Hannah, (resisting) No, no, Mr. Russel. 

Michael. But why not ? 

Hannah, (growing angry) I do not wish to. 

Michael. Nonsense, (becom.es more aggressive) 

Hannah. Now, Mr. Russel, will you desist ? 

Michael, (with quick resolve) All this parley will do 
no good. If you will not consent, I must use force. 
( grasps Hannah firmly . ) 

Hannah, (resists) My God, you hurt me ! 

Michael. Come with me ! 

Hannah. I will call for help ! 

Michael. Do. Nobody will hear you. Come ! (at- 
tempts to drag Hannah away.) 

Hannah, (calling loudly) Help ! Help ! 

Scene IV. Enter Tom. He throvis the bag of malt 
against Michael with such force, that the latter falls upon 
the ground and the bag on top of him. 



' Tom. (in seeming terror) Oh, I beg a thousand 
pardons ! 

Michael, (rising in a rage) Miserable dog, what does 
this mean ? 

Tom. (stuttering) I — I came with this bag of malt 
on my back, and then, I don't know, how it happened — 
really, I don't know how it happened. 

Michael. Scoundrel, you have been listening ! 

Tom. No, really not. I didn't see at all when you 
tried to kiss Hannah — no, I didn't see anything. 

Michael. Enough, my fine fellow, we will settle this 
later. But why didn't you bring this bag to the brew- 
ery, as I told you ? 
. Tom. I must have forgotten that entirely. 

Michael, (in a rage) You damned rascal ! (advances 
upon Tom to beat him.) 

Tom. (retreating slowly) Now here, have a care. I 
am only an apprentice, and you are my master's s*On — 
but I will not let you beat me for all that. 

Hannah, (looks through the window) Here comes 
master's carriage. They will be here in a moment. 

Michael, (to Tom) I'll see you about this later on. 
(exit quickly.) 

Toon. Now, will you admit) that my suspicions were 
perfectly justified ? I saw all. You acted bravely, my 
girl. 

Hannah. Go, Tom. Master and his family are as- 
cending the stairs already. 

Tom. I'm off. Good-bye, good-bye. (exit throvring 
kisses at her.) 

Hannah, (alone) Tom was right. Michael Russel is 
a villain. I saw it in the mischievous glow of his eyes. 
At that moment he looked like a demon. It makes me 
shudder to recall the scene. No, I could never marry 
such a man, if he had a million. 

Scene V. Enter William Mussel, his wife Catherine, 
Paul, Rose, and "Alfred Strong. All are in street-cos- 
tume. They take off their head-dresses. Hannah re- 
ceives them and takes them out. 

Mussel. Well, here we are. Welcome home, my son, 
welcome Mr. Strong, (shakes their hands respectively .) 
My son's friend is also mine. Paul has written of you 
very frequently, and although we had never seen you, 
we had really learned to regard you as a friend. 



Alfred. Your hearty reception almost makes me for- 
get the sad misfortunes which have lately befallen me. 

Bussel. Do not think of them now, young friend. 
We all have to go sometime. Sooner or later God will 
call us unto Him. Christians have a sweet consolation 
for such woe. In the hereafter we will meet our be- 
loved departed ones again and rejoice with them at the 
throne of the Almighty. — But where is Michael ? Why 
is he not here to embrace his brother ? {calls) Michael ! 
Michael ! 

Scene VI. Miter Michael. 

Paul, {embracing Michael warmly) My dear brother ! 

Michael, {coldly) How do you do ? 

Paul. You have never written to me. Not one of 
my many letters have you answered. 

Michael. Well, you know, we are always busy here 
in the brewery. And then, I am not one of you college 
fellows. I don't like to write. 

Paul. How strong and healthy you look. I am really 
glad to see you so well, {presents Alfred) This is Mr. 
Alfred Strong, my dearest friend — my brother Michael. 
{both bow.) 

' Bussel. Now, Paul, lead your friend to his room. 
Afterwards we will assemble in the parlor and celebrate 
your safe return and your friends arrival with some 
choice wines and an excellent lunch. Come, wife. 

Exeunt Mussel, Catherine and Pose. 

Paul. Come with me then, my friend, (to Michael) 
I'll see you again in a few minutes, dear brother, (in 
confidence) You must tell me all about our little friend 
Cora Weller. (Exeunt Paul and Alfred.) 

Michael, (alone) Dear brother ! Pshaw ! Not as 
dear as you may imagine. I felt such a peculiar thrill, 
when his hand touched mine. It gave me an impulse to 
clutch him by the throat and strangle him. I feel it is 
a deathly hate. Whence does it spring ? The same 
mother bore us ; in childhood's plays we were insepar- 
able. According to all laws of nature, I ought to love 
him. But man cannot control the inclinations of his 
heart; they are subject to a higher power. I never 

loved him, I never will ! He has become a handsome 

man. What impression will he make upon Cora ? They 
have corresponded diligently and he wants me to tell 
him all about her — ha ! If he should dare to cross my 



path in that direction ! — I must go to her instantly and 
ask her for her hand. Fool that I was, not to think of 
this sooner. After she has once given her word to me, 
all danger from him will be over. 

Scene VII. Miter Mussel. 

Mussel. A word with you, Michael. 

Michael. What is it, father ? 

Mussel. I must speak to you of a painful matter. 

Michael, {aside) He must have discovered one of my 
escapades again. 

Mussel. This morning I received a letter from a 
lawyer, a Mr. Scribbler, in which he notifies me, that 
he is about to commence a lawsuit against you. 

Michael. Against me ? 

Mussel. So he writes. But that in consideration of 
my standing in the community he gives me an opportu- 
nity to settle the matter without the scandal of a suit. 

Michael. I owe nothing to any one. 

Mussel. He writes, that you have promised to marry 
a girl named Catherine Hill, who intends to sue you 
now for breach of that promise. 

Michael, (lightly) Oh, Catharine Hill — she is a low 
woman — 

Mussel, {indignantly) Then you know her ! Ha, fel- 
low ! What right have you to deal with such persons ? — 
Had she been an honest girl, I would have compelled 
you to marry her without delay and thus make repara- 
tion ! 

Michael {humbly) Pardon me, father. This is one 
of my old transgressions. Since I promised you reform, 
I have led a virtuous life and kept my word. 

Mussel, {softened) Oh, Michael. Do not repay the 
love of your father with such ingratitude. Become an 
honest, upright man. Shun bad associations. Promise 
me, swear, that henceforth you will lead a better life 
and I will help you once more. 

Michael. I promise you solemnly, father. 

Mussel. I hope you will keep your word. In order 
to avoid a suit, I have notified the lawyer, that I would 
call on him. 

Michael. Thank you. 

Mussel. And now about Cora. You promised me, 
that you would ask her mother for her hand. Have you 
done so V 



Michiel. Not yet. But I intend to do so this very day. 

Hussel. Cora is not rich, but she has an angellike 
disposition. Perhaps she may exert a salutary influence 
over your wild nature, and protect you in future against 
all these evils. 

Michael. I will see her mother immediately. 

Hussel. Will you not participate in our merriment ? 

Michael, {in apparent contrition) Later on. Now I 
feel so depressed. My guilt — your kindness — oh, I am 
an ungrateful wretch ! {averts his face.) 

Hussel. (consolingly) This is well, Michael. Repent- 
ance for sins is the surest road to atonement. Now go. 
May God assist you and condone your faults ! 

Michael, (turns to go, gnashing his teeth) Old fool ! 
(exit. ) 

Hussel. Michael seems to have taken my words to 
heart this time. May heaven protect him from future 
sin ! 

Sells begin to toll solemnly. Hussel sinks upon his 
knees and prays. While he kneels, Paul enters and looks 
upon Hussel in astonishment. 

Scene VIII. The bells cease to toll. 

Paul. Father ! 

Hussel. (rising quickly) You have surprised me, Paul, 
have seen me kneel and pray at an unusual time. I 
will explain this to you. 

Paul. You owe me no explanation, dear father. 

Hussel. Nay, my boy. Let me give you my history. 
You will understand it and perhaps draw a valuable 
lesson from it. 

Paul. Speak, dear father, I listen. 

Hussel. You know I was born a Roman Catholic. 
Having been strictly raised in that religion from my 
earliest childhood, no doubt of the entire truth of its 
teachings had ever entered my soul. In time this was 
to change. I heard dogmas promulgated from the pul- 
pit and in private, which were entirely at variance with 
that which my senses observed and my reason approved- 
In one word : I doubted. Oh, how. I tried to banish 
these doubts from my soul, knowing that doubt is a 
deathly sin ! I did not succeed. Again and again tor- 
menting questions would arise within me, and I could 
not answer them without involving myself in still great- 
er doubts and perplexities. At last my condition be- 



10 

came unbearable. At day-time I wandered about aim- 
lessly, neglecting my business ; at night I could not 
sleep or when at last, in consequence of sheer exhaus- 
tion, sleep came, I would be tossing in most hideous 
dreams, the recollection of which makes my flesh creep 
even now. In addition I began to suspect, that I walked 
in my sleep. This suspicion soon became a horrible 
certainty ! 

Paid. My poor father ! 

Mussel. When I first made this discovery, I was hor- 
rified beyond description. God had punished me aw- 
fully. I thought of suicide, but that could only hurl 
me into eternal damnation. Then I prayed — oh, so de- 
voutly, so sincerely ! But the words on my lips turned 

into so many blasphemous thoughts in my heart. 

You were then still a child. Tour mother attempted 
to console me, to fortify my belief by mild and quieting 
ministrations. Ah me, she did not understand the depth 
of my affliction. Neither could the pious efforts of our 
pastor bring me relief, for as soon as he uttered his 
religious sentiments, I would commence to reason and 
to doubt his statements. The orchestra plays a weird 
strain through which is heard the soft chime of distant 
church bells. So came Christmas eve twenty years ago. 
The full moon shone brightly through the window upon 
my bed. In vain my exhausted body had courted sleep. 
Despairingly I had stared into the smiling moon for 
more than an hour. Suddenly I became conscious of a 
peculiar clouding of my senses. Being at first a most 
tranquil slumber, it soon thrilled my whole being with 
a deathly terror. The moon had ceased to smile, but 
grinned at me with the face of a mocking demon. Ir- 
resistibly I felt myself drawn upward. Halfconsciously 
I knew I had risen and was being drawn towards that 
grinning face. I tried to shriek, but could utter no 
sound ! — Suddenly I awoke and found myself on top of 
the tower of my brewery ! 

Maul. Oh, horror ! 

Mussel. Terror-stricken I looked down upon the 
street, sixty feet below. I wanted to clutch at the flag- 
staff — but my muscles refused to act. Already I felt 
my limbs give way — 

Maul. Oh, awful situation ! 

Mussel. Then the bells of the neighboring church 
began to toll solemnly. A new peace seemed to enter 



11 

my soul. All my horror had vanished. Instinctively I 
grasped the cornice of the roof, swung myself through 
the open window and was saved ! 

Paid, {embracing Mussel with emotion) Saved ! 

Mussel. Since that time all my doubts were at an 
end, for God had saved me as by a miracle. Since that 
time I have also ceased to walk in my sleep. And when 
the bells toll, as they did a few minutes ago, I kneel 
down, open my soul to God and strengthen my belief 
in devout prayer. 

Paul. Poor father. Your experience was a sad and 
terrible one. May the tranquility of your soul never 
again be troubled in the future as it was in the past. 

Mussel. You are the first person to whom I have ever 
divulged this secret. To your brother Michael I could 
never confide such troubles as these. He has not con- 
ducted himself as he should, during your absence. He 
is a wild, reckless profligate. 

Paxil. Oh, father. 

Mussel. He is. It has cost a large part of my fortune 
to extricate him out of the difficulties into which his 
wicked conduct had brought him. Yet, he is my child 
and your brother. You are older, more sensible and I 
believe better than he is. Promise me that you will 
guard him in the future, save him from temptation and 
show him the path of virtue. Promise me this, Paul. 

Paul. O, with pleasure. 

Mussel. Michael will ask Cora Weller for her hand 
to-day. 

Paul, (in surprise) Cora ! My God ! 

Mussel, (continuing) She is a good girl. Perhaps he 
may become better through her influence. Do all you . 
can to further this union ; we may yet succeed in mak- 
ing a good man of Michael. I go to the dining-room 
now. Follow me there with your friend, (exit.) 

Paul, (alone) Michael to ask Cora for her hand ! Oh, 
that cannot, must not be. When I left New York to 
finish my studies abroad, I was only a boy, and she a 
little bit of a girl. But my warm affection for her was 
then already more than friendship. Since that time her 
image has been the constant inmate of my soul and that 
which was then only warm affection, has ripened into 
all-absorbing love. Oh, Cora, I cannot, cannot relin- 
quish you now ! And yet, if Michael loves her — he is 
my brother — and if she loves him — then nothing will 



12 

remain for me but quiet, despairing resignation, (exit 
quickly.) 

Scene IX. Enter Scribbler a lawyer, and Grab a dep- 
uty sheriff; behind them Hannah. 

Hannah. But I tell you, you can't see Mr. Russel just 
now. He sat down to dinner this moment. 

Scribbler. No matter, we'll wait. Meanwhile an- 
nounce our presence. Here is my card, (hands card to 
Hannah^) 

Hannah. Very well, sir. (exit) 

Scribbler. Now, Crab, you understand this business. 
You are not to make an arrest, but only to threaten to 
make one. I want to frighten them into making a 
settlement, screw the amount up as high as we can, 
understand ? 

Crab. You bet. Why shouldn't I understand that ? 
Screw up the amount— we officers of the law understand 
that better than anything else. How much will I make 
by the operation ? 

Scribbler. You will not be forgotten. 

Crab. You bet. 

Scene X. Enter Tom with a jug of ale and several 
glasses* 

Tom. Merciful heaven. One of them scowls at me 
like a policeman. I'm trembling from head to foot. 
(timidly advancing) Gentlemen, Mr. Russel sends you 
this jug of ale, to regale yourselves until he comes. 

Scribbler. Aha, a bribe. 

Crab, (helps himself) You bet. 

Tom. Oh lord, how the other one eyes me now. He 
must be at least a judge. I did not commit any crime, 
or should Michael perhaps on account of that malt bag-^- 

Scribbler. (ster?dy) Young man, you tremble; you 
have a bad conscience. 

Tom. I? Oh, no. My conscience is as clear as yours. 

Scribbler and Crab burst into a loud laugh. 

Crab. You bet. (drinks repeatedly) 

Tom. (exit) 

Scribbler. How would I do for a judge ? Splendid ! 
This stentorian voice would make the delinquents trem- 
ble like aspen. 

Crab, (drinking) You bet. But let me tell you, a 
judge who cannot drink ale, is no good. I would be the 
man for a judge. 



13 

Scribbler. You? 

Grab. Yes I, you bet. It is true I can't write quite 
orthographic or what you may call it, but that's nothing. 
When Tweed was boss, many a man became judge, who 
couldn't write correctly. 

Scribbler. Those times are past. 

Crab. Nonsense. I would put a pair of eye-glasses 
to my nose, look wise and let somebody else do the wri- 
ting for me. You bet. All one wants, is common sense. 

Scribbler. You don't say ? 

Crab. Let me tell you an instance of my ingenuity 
as you lawyers call it. Hahaha ! I must always laugh 
when I think of it. You remember Wells, the carpen- 
ter, who was arrested for assault and battery on Mrs. 
Pettigrew ? 

Scribbler. Yes, I remember, I defended him. 

Crab. You bet. Well, Mrs. Pettigrew came to me 
first and wanted to know what she could do to fix Wells. 
I brought her to Counselor Drybook. He charged her 
$10.00 and gave me one third. Then she gave me $2.00 
to hold Wells as fast as I could. When I came to ar- 
rest Wells, he gave me $5.00 to let him go till next 
morning. Then I brought Wells to you. You charged 
him $10.00 and gave me one third. So you see, I made 
$13.66 out of one slap in the face. Hahahaha ! 

Scribbler. Man alive. You must make more money 
than the judge. 

Crab. No, not quite as bad as all that. 

Scribbler. Some one is coming, look sharp now. 

Scene XI. Enter Russel. 

Russel. Now gentlemen, I am at your disposal. 

Scribbler. Mr. Russel, we have come to execute an 
order of arrest. 

Crab. You bet; I have the order of arrest, (lays his 
hand upon RusseVs shoulder) In the name of the law, 
you are my prisoner. 

Russel. Not so fast. There is a slight mistake. I 
am not Michael Russel, but his father. Michael is not 
at home at present. But Mr. Scribbler, I sent you word, 
that I would call upon you and arrange this matter. 

Scribbler. Well, we can do that now, if you wish. 

Russel. How much does the girl claim ? 

Scribbler, (pathetically) Oh, who can pay for the 
lost virtue of an innocent ffirl ? Your whole fortune 



14 

would not suffice as a compensation. As it is, $500 be- 
sides costs. 

Mussel. And how much will your costs be ? 

Scribbler. That I can tell you in a moment. I always 
have the code of civil procedure in my pocket, {takes 
the code out of Ms pocket and turns the leaves) $2.00 
for serving summons and complaint, $25.00 for all costs 
before notice of trial, $5.00 for issuing order of arrest, 
affidavits and acknowledgments $1.00, in all $33.00, 
that's cheap, isn't it ? 

Crab. You bet. 

Mussel, {to Crab) And you, how much is your bill ? 

Crab. $5.00 for coining here, ten cents car-fare, 
thirty cents for six glasses of ale, which I drank here 
while waiting for you, in all $5.40. That's cheap too, 
you bet ! 

Mussel. {smiling) Come with me to my office, gentle- 
men, my book-keeper will pay you immediately {precedes 
them.) Scribbler and Crab bow deeply and follow Mussel. 



THE CURTAIN FALLS, 



ACT II. 

Antechamber to the ball-room in Mussel" 1 s house. 

Scene I. Mussel, {alone) This is my fiftieth birthday. 
My parlors are filled with laughing merry people, old 
and young are in the best of spirits, only I, the rich 
man, am unhappy, and my heart is filled with woe. 
Since Paul has returned and brought his friend, and 
since I have observed, that neither of them is a true be- 
liever, and that still both are happy and honest and 
good, the spirit of doubt has again taken possession of 
my soul. Against my will perplexing questions present 
themselves to my mind, and I cannot shake them off. — 
(Meflectively) With life man also receives the cer- 
tainty of death. Sooner or later the time must come, 
when his heart will cease to beat. What will follow 
death ? To be assured of a future existence, endless 
and full of bliss, unruffled by the cares and troubles of 
this life, would be a consolation, aye a thorough com- 
pensation for the pangs of death. But who can vouch- 
safe, that such bliss awaits us ? Who can tell, but 
though I lead a virtuous life, with all my power strive 
to follow God's commandments, yet that which waits 
for me is but perpetual damnation ? In that case would 
it not be better, if physical death would end existence 
altogether ? Oh, that man could have full knowledge 
of his future destination ! The wicked, if they knew 
their doom, would never dare to sin; the righteous 
could not err. But as it is, man never attains full 
knowledge of his purpose, nor of his ultimate destiny, 
and thus he passes through this life with sense enough 
to sin, a little more than brute, yet not divine enough 

to stand above temptation and iniquity ! But there 

— I'm reasoning again, doubting God's wisdom and 
benevolence — oh, heavenly father — shield me against 
myself, help me do battle and to conquer 1113^ own rea- 
son ! [exit slowly.) 



16 

Scene II Enter Alfred and Hose. 

Alfred. At last I find an opportunity to speak to 
you alone for a moment. Why do you always fly from 
me ? Do you fear the friend of your brother ? 

Rose, {archly) Not you, sir. But perhaps I am afraid 
of being alone with you. What could you have to say 
to me after all ? 

Alfred. Oh, many things. But above all, I desire 
to become better acquainted with you. 

Hose. For that purpose it is not necessary that we 
should be alone. 

Alfred. Yes, it is. I desire to look deeply into your 
heart, to understand your innermost thoughts, and that 
I could not, in the presence of other people. 

Rose, (naively) Then you must really take great 
interest in me. 

Alfred. I do indeed. Paul had told me much of his 
lovely sister before I came here with him. I had grown 
quite interested in you before I first saw you. But when 
I did behold you, when I afterwards often found occa- 
sion to observe you, then I found, that his praises had 
not done justice to the real state of facts. 

Rose. Now you really flatter me. 

Alfred. No, no. It has ever been my wont to utter 
my thoughts without reserve. And therefore I will not 
now conceal from you my real feelings. From the day 
I first beheld you, life seemed to me completely changed. 
The more I saw of you, the deeper rooted became this 
feeling. Rose, may I hope ? (takes her hand.) 

Rose, (in embarrassment.) This declaration comes so 
unexpectedly ; you really surprise me — 

Alfred. I know, I was abrupt. But see, I am but 
mortal and the force of my feelings was irresistible. 
Are you offended, Rose ? 

Rose. No, no. But what will my father say to this ? 

Alfred. Your father is a kind, considerate man. I 
hope, in the short time that I have been in his employ, 
I have at least earned his kind consideration. He will 
put no obstacle in our way. 

Rose. My father is a strict Catholic, and you never 
go to church. 

Alfred. He is not a strict Catholic, if I am a judge 
of human nature. I know the malady of which he suf- 
fers ; Paul and I have tried to analyze it. But of course, 



17 

young ladies understand little of such affairs. You do 
not refuse me, because I am not a strict Catholic ? 

Hose. No. Paul and I have a peculiar religion of 
our own. Its chief motto is : Act in accordance with 
the dictates of your conscience. Paul has often said to 
me : If your conscience is clear and free of remorse, 
you have acted rightly and your conduct will please the 
Almighty. 

Alfred. And that is the best religion upon the face 
of the earth. — I hear your father approach. Please, 
return to the ball-room. I will speak to him at once. 
May I ? 

Rose. You hasten so. 

Alfred. Not more than my heart dictates. 

JRose. Be it so, then. 

Alfred. A thousand thanks, (kisses her hand) 

Hose, (exit) 

Alfred, (alone) Rose is right. Why should she tor- 
ture her little head with theological problems, which 
she will never be able to understand. 

Scene III. Enter Russel, lost in thought. 

Russel. (without noticing Alfred) Doubt is a deathly 
sin. Yet it is pressed upon me by some unknown force. 
I try to banish it, it will not go. I hear Father Martin 
preach. I feel that certain things he says, cannot be 
true. Must I believe then, what I know to be false ? 
So I sway between doubt, belief and infidelity. 

Alfred. Mr. Russel ! 

Mussel. Ah, it is you. 

Alfred. Mr. Russel. When I arrived with your son 
Paul, you accorded me a most hearty reception. When 
I afterwards confessed to you, that I was without funds 
and resources, you gave me employment as book-keeper 
in your business. I have made every possible effort to 
re-pay your kindness and to gain your satisfaction. 

Russel. (kindly) You certainly have. 

Alfred. I am poor at present, it is true ; but you 
know I am of a good family. 

Russel. True again. 

Alfred. Yet, perhaps, my application will not be 
favorably received by you. 

Russel. Speak my boy, speak without hesitation. 

Alfred. Well then — I love your daughter. Rose has 
given me permission to ask you for her hand. 



18 

Mussel. Well, well. You have been wooing fast, 
young man. Why, you've only been here a couple of 
months. 

Alfred. I knew Rose through Paul long before I saw 
her. But since I saw her I feel that I can never love 
another. 

Mussel. And what does the little minx say to it ? 

Alfred. I confessed my love to her a few minutes 
ago. She did not refuse me, but gave me permission 
to speak to you. 

Mussel, (kindly) Alfred, you are a diligent, upright 
young man. If Rose loves you, you have my consent. 
(shakes Alfred's hand) 

Alfred. Thanks, sir, a thousand thanks. I will go 
to Mrs. Russel and speak to her. 

Mussel. She will not refuse where I consent. But 
Alfred, before you go, let me put a question to you. Do 
you think a man could be a good Catholic and still have 
doubts in regard to some of the cardinal precepts of the 
church ? 

Alfred, (smilingly) He certainly cannot. But I do 
believe a person may be a good man without being a 
good Catholic. 

Mussel. Sometimes grave doubts arise within me. 
They make me quite unhappy. You have been raised 
in the Catholic faith too. Do you meet with the same 
experience ? 

Alfred. I have met with it. Every intelligent, edu- 
cated person must meet with it sooner or later. But all 
my doubts have vanished long ago, or if any have re- 
mained, they do not trouble me. 

Mussel. How did you bring this about ? 

Alfred. By simply giving full sway to my reason. 

Mussel. Your reason ? 

Alfred. I have applied it without hesitation. Where 
knowledge ends, belief begins. To believe is : not to 
know. To believe things which your reason demonstrates 
to you to be false is simply absurd, and a religion which 
compels you to believe a thing without permitting you 
to submit it to the test of reason, is founded upon im- 
posture. Knowledge is the conception of an idea in the 
light of reason Belief is but its shadow darkened by 
the shade of ignorance and imposition. Striving to 
learn the truth through reasoning is no sin. The very 
fact, that free reasoning is denied you by your church 



19 

ought to arouse your suspicion. Where something is 
concealed, there must be something wrong. The wrong 
here lies in the subtle deception, which your priests 
practice upon your credulity. 

Mussel. And where did your reasoning lead you ? 

Alfred. I came out victoriously. All the religious 
teachings I had received from my youth, I submitted to 
the test of my reason. That which could not sustain 
the test, I rejected. I must admit, but little of it stood 
the test, but that which did, is quite sufficient to enable 
me to lead a moral life. 

Mussel. And what religion do you call yours now ? 

Alfred. Ah, that is hard to tell. I'm neither a Cath- 
olic, a Jew, a Protestant, nor a Mohamedan. I doubt, 
if I would be justified in calling myself a Christian. 
But whatever you may call it, it makes me happy, and 
that is the chief object of my religion. Such would 
probably also be the chief effect of most religions, if 
their precepts were not moulded to serve the baleful 
purposes of avaricious priestcraft. 

Mussel. If I would follow your advice, where would 
my reasoning lead me? Ah — perhaps to utter infidelity ! 

Alfred. Hardly. Begin at fundamental principles. 
You see the world about you. All its beauties and its 
thousand wonderful appointments are open to your eye. 
Begin by worshipping the power which created these, 
adore the infinite wisdom which bade all things fit each 
other, but do this only in the light of reason. Before 
you worship at the shrine of nature, divest yourself of 
all fanatical idolatry. But if your inm>ate feelings of 
religiousness do not permit of such a rapid change of 
sentiment, begin by testing your convictions by your 
reason. To investigate the truth can be no sin, but 
must lead you to independence and happiness. (Exit.) 

Mussel, (alone) He is right, I feel it. And yet I dare 
not shake off my chains. For since these doubts have 
returned, I know, that I am also again afflicted with 
that terrible night-mare, sleep-walking. Heavenly fa- 
ther, have mercy upon me. Let me not remain in my 
present condition of mind. It cannot be worse to en- 
dure the tortures of perdition. Yes, I must give 

way to this irresistible pressure. The time has come at 
last, when I must seek the truth and look it in the eye. 
To shun it longer would be cowardice. Be it then. 
Here is a bible, (takes a book from the bookshelf) I will 



20 

read it in the light of reason. Let me discard all vestige 
of a blind belief. Pure reason be the arbiter of my 
convictions ! Sits down and reads silently. The orches- 
tra plays a subdued air. After a, pause of study ; I 
find many passages here which are incredible, ridiculous, 
impossible. Impossible ? No. To God everything is 
possible, (turns leaves and reads again) Some of these 
tales, if they were told me by a friend, I'd treat them 
with contempt — but they are revelation — are they now ? 
He must be a capricious, fickle God, who first wills one 
thing, then decrees another. Still, omnipotence w T ill 
cover many apparent contradiction's, (reflectively) It is 
peculiar, whatever puzzles me, is quickly solved by God's 
omnipotence, (suddenly starting up) Ha ! What was 
that ? My reason mockingly called out to me : "Who 
tells you, that there is a God !" Back, back with you, 
oh horrifying thought ! — No God ! I cannot, will not 

think it. No, no ! Let me rather bear this burden, 

let me rather be tortured with these other doubts, than 
think of doubting the existence of my God ! 



THE CURTAIN FALLS. 



^lCT III. 

Another part of RusseV s house. Dancing music is 
heard from within. 

Scene I. Tom. (alone) If this continues as it has 
begun, the room will soon be full of guests. After they 
have all arrived, I can go inside too and have a dance 
with my Hannah. To-day I will insist upon receiving 
a definite answer from her, for I will wait no longer. 

/Scene II. Enter Hannah. You will wait no longer ? 
For what ? 

Tom. Aha ! Little minx, you have been listening. 

Hannah. Forsooth. You spoke so loud, that I could 
not help hearing you. 

Tom. Truly ? Well, it is no secret either, leastwise 
not for you. 

Hannah. I am in a hurry to get to the kitchen. 

Tom. Oh, no. I wouldn't let you get away from me 
this time. 

Hannah. Tom ! 

Tom. I don't care, how dignified you become. Now 
or never. I want to know my doom. 

Hannah. What are you speaking about ? 

Tom. You know as well as I do. I proposed to you 
the other day and you still owe me the answer. 

Hannah. Is that all ? 

Tom. All ? Well, I should think it was just enough. 
Don't keep me in suspense any longer. 

Hannah. All right then, you shall have my answer. 

Torn. Not too fast. Joy has killed many people 
already. 

Hannah. You seem to be pretty sure of your answer. 

Tom. You couldn't be cruel enough to say no. 

Hannah. Couldn't I though ? (mysteriously) Well, I 
have considered the matter and come to the conclusion — 

Tom. Out with it ! 



22 

Hannah. To consider it a little longer-! {runs off, 
laughing) 

Tom. {sighing) Oh Lord, this is a cruel world. 

Scene III. Enter Mrs. Wetter and Cora, her daugh- 
ter. Tom receives their vn'aps and exit. 

Mrs. Wetter. Now, my dear, since we are alone and 
unobserved, tell me, why you have not given Michael 
a definite answer ? 

Cora. When he first proposed to me about two 
months ago, I asked him to wait until we should return 
from the trip south, which the doctor prescribed for 
you. On our journey I had time enough to consult my 
heart. But my heart does not feel towards him that 
affection, which a wife ought to bear her husband. 
Now 1 am less decided than before. 

Mrs. Wetter. But how is it possible to be undecided 
in regard to such a brilliant match ? Michael's father 
is enormously wealthy, and Michael himself is a good- 
looking young man. 

Cora. All that is very true. 

Mrs. Wetter. He loves you. 

Cora. He says so, at least. 

Mrs. Wetter. Then what on earth prevents you from 
accepting him ? 

Cora. Dear mother, something in my heart prevents 
me, and you know T , the heart — 

Mrs. Wetter. Has nothing whatever to do with a 
matter of that kind. A girl like you, without wealth, 
without a highsounding name, ought to accept an offer 
like this without hesitation. 

Cora. Did not you consult your heart too, when 
Papa proposed to you ? 

Mrs. Wetter. Nonsense. I was an obedient child. 
When 1 had the necessary age, my parents found a 
suitable husband for me, 1 married him and that was 
the end of it. 

Cora. And yet you lived so happily with him. 

Mrs. Wetter. He was a good man and I soon learned 
to love him. But come, child, let us go inside, (exit 
through centre door) 

Cora, {alone) I. have not given Michael a definite 
answer, because 1 do not love him. My heart prompted 
me to refuse him, and I would have done so, did not my 
mother wish this union. But L will not accept him 



23 

without having first seen Paul. If I am nothing to 
Paul — then Michael will do as well as anybody else. It 
will make little difference whom I marry then. 

Scene IV. Enter Paul. 

Paul, (greeting her joyfully) Cora — Miss Weller ! 

Cora, (simultaneously) Paul — Mr. Russel ! 

Paul. I recognized you at the first glance. 

Cora. So did I. 

Paul. And how you have changed. When I saw 
you last, you were such a little bit of a girl, (indicating) 

Cora. You were a boy when you departed, and now 
you are a man. 

Paul. You were the only person in the far off native 
land, whose letters 1 could always confidently expect. 
A thousand thanks for the many happy hours they 
caused me. I would have tendered you my thanks two 
months ago, had not your sudden journey deprived me 
of that pleasure. 

Cora. Immediate change was absolutely necessary 
for my mother. So my letters have pleased you ? 

Paul. Reading them made me always feel as if I was 
at home, living my childhood over again, playing with 
you. Oh, that was a happy time. 

Cora. Yes, it was. Now life, with all its seriousness, 
has commenced for us. 

Paul. The innocent dreams, in which we then in- 
dulged together, have been partly realized ; partly we 
find ourselves disappointed. 

Cora. Have you too learned, that there are disap- 
pointments in store for everyone ? 

Paul. Do you recollect, when we played by the sea- 
side and 1 called you my little wife. You walked with 
me arm in arm so proudly and said to the other children : 
This is my husband. 

Cora, (laughing) Yes, I remember, and to Michael 
I said, teasing him : You are my brother-in-law. 

Paul, (sighing) That beautiful dream is not to be 
realized. Michael will be the husband and I — 

Cora. Well ? ' 

Paul. And 1 will be the brother-in-law. 

Cora. Yo seem to be quite certain of this. 

Paul. Both Michael and my father assured me, that 
you were engaged to be married. 

Cora. Michael and I are not engaged to be married. 



24 

Paul* {joyously) Then — 

Cora. That is — not yet. 

Paul, [disappointed) Oh ! 

Cora. Michael has asked my mother for my hand. 
She consented, but I — 

Paul. And you ? 

Cora. It would be a great joy for you to call me sis- 
ter-in-law, would it not ? 

Paul, {embarrassed) Of course, that is — I — {gaining 
his composure) Cora, as children we have always under- 
stood each other. Why should we not now ? 

Cora. Oh, Paul. 

Paul. Let me finish, please. If you love Michael, I 
will be the last person in the world to dissuade you 
from marrying him. But I want you to tell me, if you 
love him. 

Cora. What right have you to question me ? 

Paul. The right which love gives me. I promised 
my father to watch over Michael's welfare. If you real- 
ly love him, I will stand back and join in hearty wishes 
for your happiness with him. If you do not love him, 
you shall not marry him and thereby wreck your happi- 
ness and mine. 

Cora. Yours too ? 

Paul. Yes, mine, for I love you. 

Cora. Then I will be equally frank with you. I 
refused to give Michael a definite answer, because I 
wished to convince myself first of the fact that I was 
nothing to you. 

Paul. Oh, then you love me. {takes her hand) The 
dreams of our childhood will still be realized ? 

Cora. Poor Michael. 

Paul, {gravely) Yes, his wild temper will make this 
loss doubly hard to bear. 

Cora. I will be a true sister to him. 

Paul. Now, dear Cora, as a token of our mutual love, 
give me the first kiss. 

They kiss each other. 

Scene V. Michael enters in time to see the kiss. 

Michael. Ha ! What means this V 
Paul and Cora, {simultaneously) Michael ! 
Michael. What' s this ? Answer ! {takes a hold of 
Cora's arm) 

Cora. Let me go, you hurt me. 



25 

Michael. I want an answer ! 

Paul. Michael, unhand Cora. 

Michael. Not until I know the meaning of this kiss. 

Paul. Well then, you shall know. Cora is my bride. 

Michael, (with a cry of rage) Your bride ! — Your 
bride ? — (raises his fist suddenly and with one terrible blow 
fells Paul to the ground. He then remains in threatening 
position with raised fist and mocking laugh. Cora gives 
a cry of pain and bends over the prostrate Paul. 



THE .CURTAIN FALLS. 



ACT IV. 

Law office of Joshua Scribbler. On each side stands 
a desk and bookcases filled with books occupy the rear. 

Crab, (sits at one of the desks) Now I have risen to 
the dignity of a law clerk. For twenty years I was a 
court-officer and deputy sheriff. But at the last election 
the democrats were defeated in my district, and now 
there is no new office in store for me. I have had a 
large experience during the many years of my official 
life. All my haps and mishaps would fill a book thicker 
than Webster's dictionary unabridged. You bet ! But 
then my present position has its advantages too. If I 
want to doze a little after dinner, when Mr. Scribbler is 
out, I have only to take one of these dusty law-books 
and peruse its contents for about five minutes and I'll be 
sleeping as fast as a door nail, you bet ! 

Scene II Enter Scribbler. 

Scribbler. Well, Crab, any news V 

Crab. You bet. It is just as yon said. Father 
Martin was thunderstruck when I served that summons 
upon him. He promised to come and see you to-day. 

Scribbler. And have you ascertained the wherea- 
bouts of Alfred Strong ? 

Crab. Yon bet. 

Scribbler. Really ? Man, you're a treasure. 

Crab. Oh, that was easy enough. He is book-keeper 
in I kissel's brewery. You remember the time we had 
an order of arrest against Knssel's son, and I charged 
him BO cents for his own beer ? 

Scribbler. Yes, yes. Did you see the young man ? 

Crab. You bet. 1 caught him just in the act of kis- 
sing the brewer's daughter. He will be here this after- 
noon too. 

Scribbler. Well, Crab. Since you are my clerk, it is 
but right, that you should know the purpose of these 



27 

errands, in order that you may understand what is to be 
done in the future. 

Crab, (bowing) I feel greatly honored by your con- 
fidence, you bet. 

Scribbler. And if this little speculation of mine suc- 
ceeds, you shall not be forgotten. 

Crab. Thank you, sir. 

Scribbler. You see, Crab, I'm always wide awake, 
and never miss a chance to make a stake. 

Crab. There's a rhyme for you. 

Scribbler. Unintentionally though. Well, one of my 
clients buys a house. He retains me to search the title 
to the property. In making the search, I find a deed 
from a certaiu Augustus Strong and his wife, to Father 
Jeremiah Martin. This circumstance seems peculiar to 
me. I inquire further and find some very curious devel- 
opments. Augustus Strong was a pretty well-to-do man. 

Crab. I knewrhim well. 

Scribbler. About six months ago he and his whole 
family were suddenly stricken with small-pox. First 
all his children died with the exception of one, Alfred 
Strong, who was at the time a student in the University 
of Edinburgh. Then Mrs. Strong followed and at last 
Strong himself succumbed. 

Crab. I know, it was a sad occurrence. 

Scribbler. Strong left a last will and testament, da- 
ted about a year before his death. When the executor 
mentioned in the will, took steps to take charge of the 
property left by Strong, he found to his surprise, that by 
a deed executed by Strong and his wife just before their 
deaths, they had conveyed all their real estate, consist- 
ing of two houses and lots, to Father Martin, and the 
personal property was hardly sufficient to pay the fu- 
neral expenses and the outstanding debts. 

Crab. You don't say. 

Scribbler. The executor, himself a good Catholic, 
said nothing, but wrote a letter to young Alfred Strong, 
communicating to him the fact, that there was nothing 
for him to inherit. It seems that young Strong has al- 
lowed the matter to rest so far. 

Crab. Well, and now ? 

Scribbler. Don't you see ? I have taken the first 
step to .restore to him his father's property, or at least 
a good part of it. 



28 

Crab. Well, well. Who would have thought of 
such a thing. 

Scribbler. Oh, I tell you, there is lots of business ly- 
ing around loose, if a man only knows how to pick it 
up. I tell you, there is something wrong about this 
deed. My information goes further than this, but that 
is not necessary for you to know now. The chief point 
is to frighten this Father Martin into returning at least 
the greater part of his spoils. I guess Alfred Strong 
will have no objection to that. 

Crab. You bet, he wouldn't. 

Knocking is heard at the door. Immediately Scribb- 
ler and Crab run to their respective desks and assume the 
appearance of intense occupation. 

Scene III. Enter Father Jeremiah Martin. 

Martin. Excuse me, gentlemen. Is this the office of 
Counselor Scribbler ? 

Crab, (rises and bows obsequiously) It is, sir. Do 
you wish to see the Judge ? 

Martin. Judge ? No, the lawyer I wish to see. 

Crab. Well, the lawyer I mean. Sit down, sir. Mr. 
Scribbler is busy just now looking up points in a big 
case. He will see you in a moment. 

Martin, (sits down), Very well. 

Scribbler, {reading a book attentively) Mr. Crab. 

Crab, [very respectfully) Sir ? 

Scribbler. Make out a subpoena first. Then draw a 
petition for a writ of habeas corpus. Then you can go 
to the Surrogates Court and get a blank application for 
letters of administration de bonis none. Here I have 
drawn the habeas corpus ad testificandum. Then we 
want papers for an order of arrest in that case of Mr. 
Strong. 

Crab. Very well, sir. (aside) Damn me, if I have 
understood a single word of it. 

Scribbler. And now I must hurry over to the United 
States Court, [takes his hat as if to go) 

Crab. Here is a gentleman who wishes to see you. 

Martin, (bows) 

Scribbler. Pardon me, sir. I did not observe your 
presence. What can I do for you ? 

Martin. You sent a paper to me — my name is Martin 
— Reverend Father Martin. 



29 

Scribbler. Oh, yes, I remember; you were bitten by 
a dog. 

Martin. No, no, you sent me this paper, (shows 
paper) 

/Scribbler, (looks at paper) Oh yes, now I see, excuse 
me. I am so busy, can't keep track of everything. Now 
I recollect. You are the legacy-hunter. 

Martin. Sir ! 

/Scribbler. Tut, tut. It is a clear case. Order of ar- 
rest, writ of inquiry, criminal prosecution, ten years in 
states-prison, restitution of property — or is it to be a 
settlement ? 

Martin. Sir, do not speak to me in that manner. I 
am not a boy, to be frightened with such big words. 
What do you wish from me. 

Scribbler. All right, let us speak in a different man- 
ner. Let us put it in as delicate a light as you choose. 
Mr. Augustus Strong before his death, conveyed real 
estate to you, without any consideration being paid 
therefor by you. This summons is the commencement 
of an action brought to set aside this conveyance on the 
ground that it was obtained by undue influence. 

Martin. Who says that it was ? 

Scribbler. There is ample proof. The conveyance 
will be set aside, you will lose all, not only the proper- 
ty in question, but also your standing as a clergyman. 
The scandal would crush you. On the other hand, if an 
amicable arrangement is made, part of the property 
might be retained by you. 

Martin. And if I refuse ? 

Scribbler. You will not only lose the whole proper- 
ty, but also your liberty. 

Martin. You speak with much assurance. 

Scribbler. It is justified by the facts in my pos- 
session. 

. Martin, (aside) Devil ! What shall I do ? (to Scribbler) 
Counselor, you are a Catholic, I believe ? 

Scribbler, {bows) 

Martin. Consider the high service you would do our 
church, if — 

Scribbler. No, sir. At this particular moment I am 
not a Catholic, but only a counselor. 

Martin. What would you advice me to do ? 

Scribbler. Anticipating your assent I have drawn, a 
deed, conveying the real estate back to Alfred Strong, 



30 

the only living heir of Augustus Strong, on condition, 
that he donates to your church the sum of five thousand 
dollars in form of a mortgage upon the property. Mind 
you, this arrangement requires the approval of Mr. Al- 
fred Strong, but I have no doubt, he will be satisfied. 
If you are willing to accede to this settlement, sign 
your name to this deed and I will hold it subject to my 
client's approval ; if not, the court must determine the 
matter. 

Martin, (undecided) What shall I do ? 'I wanted to 
use the proceeds of this property for the erection of a 
new altar in my church. If I only knew what p roofs 
he has against me. It might ruin me. The scandal 
would be too great. Five thousand dollars is better 
than nothing. Yet the property is worth at least 
twenty thousand dollars ! 

Scribbler. Have you arrived at a decision, sir ? My 
time is valuable. 

Martin, (decided) Give me a pen, I will sign the 
deed. 

Scribbler. Mr. Crab is a notary, he can take your 
acknowledgment. 

Crab, (aside) My maiden act as notary. I was only 
appointed yesterday, you bet ! 

Martin- (signs) 

Crab, (with great dignity) Jeremiah Martin, is this 
your signature ? 

Martin. Yes sir. 

Crab, (as above) You do solemnly declare and ack- 
nowledge, that you have executed the foregoing instru- 
ment for the purposes therein mentioned. 

Martin. I do. 

Crab, (solemnly) So help you God ! (signs) Julius 
Caesar Crab, Notary Public, New York County. Ah, 
that sounds beautifully. 

Scribbler. If my client assents to this arrangement, 
I will send you the mortgage in a day or two. If not, 
I will return this deed to you. 

Martin. Very well, sir. I must rely upon your honor. 

Scribbler. Not at all. The mortgage is a condition 
to the conveyance. 

Martin. Adieu, gentlemen, (exit) 

Scribbler and Crab accompany Martin to the door, 
boiclng obsequiously. After Martin has gone they look 



31 

at each other speechlessly for a moment and then break 
out in loud laughter. 

Scribbler. Crab ! 
Crab. Mr. Scribbler ! 

Scribbler. We have met with splendid success ! 
Crab. We ought to be Judges of the Court of Ap- 
peals, both of us ! 

Scribbler, (in ecstasy) Hurrah ! 

Crab. Hurrah ! 

Scribbler, (embracing Crab) A splendid success ! 

Crab. You bet. 

Knocking at the door is heard. Both rush to their 
desks end appear deeply absorbed in writing. 

Scribbler. Come in ! 
Crab. Come in ! 

Scene IV. Enter Mussel and Alfred. 

Crab, (receives them, politely) Gentlemen, what do 
you wish ? 

Mussel. We wish to see Counselor Scribbler. 

Crab. He is very busy just now, looking up some 
points in a very important case. He will see you in a 
moment however ; sit down, please. 

Scribbler, (after having appeared very busy for a 
moment) Ah, Mr. Russel, to what am I indebted for 
the honor of your visit ? 

Mussel. My young friend here, Mr. Alfred Strong, 
asked me to accompany him to your office. You sent 
for him. 

Scribbler. Mr. Strong, you are doubtless aware of 
the fact, that your deceased father was not devoid of 
means ? 

Alfred. I am, sir. And I was greatly astonished 
when his executor — 

Scribbler. Informed you of the fact, that there was 
nothing to inherit. 

Alfred. True, that is what he wrote to me. 

Scribbler. You have never attempted to investigate 
this matter. 

Alfred. Not yet, but I was firmly resolved to do so 
in the future. 

Scribbler. I have taken the liberty to do it for you. 

Alfred. You surprise me. 



32 

Crab, (aside) Yes, and yon will be more surprised in 
a minute. 

Scribbler. I have done more. Knowing that quick 
action was necessary to recover the property for you, I 
have attended to that part of your case too, and met 
with unexpected success. Read this, (hands the deed to 
Alfred v)ho reads it in company with Mussel) 

Mussel. Why, this is a deed conveying your father's 
property to you. Alfred, my boy, let me congratulate 
you. 

Scribbler. On one condition, however. 

- Mussel, (reading) Yes, I see. 

Scribbler. I had to hold out some inducement. T tell 
you, what these reverend fathers have once in their 
grasp, is not so easy to recover. 

Alfred. I am greatly indebted to you, sir. But how 
did it all come about ? 

Scribbler. I found the deed from your parents to 
Father Martin on record accidentally. Upon reading it 
and finding that your parents had conveyed all their 
real estate to Father Martin without any consideration, 
I knew instinctively, that a rascality had been commit- 
ted by Father Martin. 

Mussel, (astonished) A rascality— by Father Martin ? 

Scribbler. Yes sir. Through rascality he obtained 
the title to this property. I have collected sufficient 
evidence to establish that fact. 

Mussel, (aside) And I thought him a holy man, whose 
piety was only equalled by his generosity. His word, 
his sermon, has been the compass of my life ! 

Scribbler. This deed was obtained by him when both 
your parents were in the last stage of their illness, when 
they were utterly incompetent to execute such an instru- 
ment. Knowing this fact, 1 also knew that your pro- 
perty could be recovered. 1 summoned him and he 
came here. Left to the choice of parting with the pro- 
perty in consideration of a mortgage of $5000 on the 
one hand, and legal proceedings, exposure and scandal 
on the other, he chose the former, and here you have 
the result. Are you satisfied, Mr. Strong ? 

Alfred. Completely, sir. How can I ever thank you 
for your services ? (shakes Scribbler's hand) 



33 

Scribbler. No thanks are necessary, I will render 
you my bill. 

Mussel. Make it out at once and I will give you a 
check for the amount. 

Scribbler. Very well, sir. Mr. Crab, give me the 
code, if you please. 

Crab. You bet. {gives Scribbler the code) 

Scribbler, {sits down at the desk and writes) 

Mussel, {aside) What shall I think of this man's 
preachings now, what of the church, whose creed he 
preached with such solemnity, when he himself has dis- 
regarded all its teachings ? But yesterday he thundered 
down upon all doubters from his pulpit, and pictured 
all the tortures of damnation with impassioned elo- 
quence, and now I see him on a level with the lowest 
criminal ! He was /Ahaftaning, lying ! Hiding his true 
belief behind a mask of sanctity ! 

Scribbler, {comes forward) Here is my bill, gentle- 
men. 

Mussel, {takes the bill) I will give you a check for 
the amount at once, (sits down at the desk and writes) 

m Scribbler. Very well, sir. (to Alfred) Mr. Crab, my 
clerk, will call upon you to-morrow to have the mort- 
gage executed, and then this whole business will be 
settled. 

Mussel, (gives Scribbler a check) There sir. Let me 
congratulate you upon the sagacious manner in which 
you have managed my young friend's affair. Call at 
the brewery some day next week. Perhaps I will find 
something to do for you. Good day, gentlemen. 

Alfred. Let me repeat my thanks, (shakes Scribbler's 
hand) Good bye. 

Exeunt Mussel and Alfred. Scribbler and Crab fol- 
loiv them to the door bowing low. They then look at each 
other without a word for a moment, and break out in 
loud laughter. 

Scribbler. Crab ! 

Crab. Mr. Scribbler ! 

Scribbler. We have met with splendid success ! 

Crab. You bet ! 

Scribbler, (swinging the check in the air) Hurrah ! 

Crab. Hurrah ! 



34 

Scribbler. Shut up the office. We will go and have 
a sumptuous dinner. 

Crab. You bet ! {Both take their hats) 
Scribbler. At Delmonico's. 
Crab. With champaign, you bet ! 



THE CURTAIN FALLS. 



ACT V. 

Interior of MusseVs brewery. Brewing tanks and 
other utensils are disclosed to view. 

Scene I. The laborers are just concluding their days 
work and leave. 

Mussel, {alone) It is done now. My soul is free. 
There is a God above us. Each rustling leaf bears witness 
to that fact, each little star is twinkling down at his 
command, and I myself am but a proof of his existence. 
If he rewards us for our virtues and gives punishment 
for our transgressions, then I await his judgment with 
quiet confidence. For I have honestly endeavored to do 
right according to my conscience and ability, and that 

is all a most exacting God could ask. This is 

Christmas eve. Twenty years ago to-day that dreadful 
midnight-walk took place. Yes, in this very spot I 
stood, sleeping, yet looking up into the moon in baleful 
fascination. 

Scene II. Enter Michael. 

Michael. Father ! 

Mussel. It is you ? Where have you been for the 
last two weeks ? 

Michael. I quarreled with Paul. My angry feelings 
overmastered me and then I struck him down. But 
this morning I confessed and afterwards partook of the 
holy sacrament. The Priest enjoined me to forgive 
my foes. Touched by my conscience I came here. 'Tis 
Christmas eve. I will resume my old place in the brew- 
ery and — and — Father I ask your forgiveness, (acts as 
if in deep contrition) 

Mussel, {touched) Michael, my son. You are my 
child, as well as Paul. Believe me, I love you with the 
same affection. But your heart is devoid of something- 
he possesses and that is honor, manliness and truth. O, 
Michael, reform, become a different, a better man. And 
when you have grown better, you will also be happier. 
{exit greatly touched and weeping) 



36 

Michael, {alone) Old fool ! — I will remove this dar- 
ling of your heart, your favorite son. Do you imagine 
I came here to ask your pardon, trusting fool ! To-mor- 
row you intend to celebrate the betrothal of Paul and 
Cora. Hahahaha ! A deathwake shall you have instead. 
What do I care if he is my brother. He took that from 
me, which was the only thing I ever loved, the only 
being who might have been the cause of my becoming 
a different man. Yes, he must go. This house is too 
small to contain us both. I must kill him — and to- 
night. But first I will take care to divert suspicion on 
some one else. I searched Paul's pockets and found this 
wallet full of money, (shows pocket-book) Here hangs 
Tom Ryan's coat. I owe him a grudge anyway. I'll 
put this pocket-book into his coat, (suits the action to 
the word) Then 1 will hide and wait until he comes. 
When he appears, I'll plunge my knife into his heart 
and thus be free forever from his hated presence. The 
money will be found in Tom's pocket, and he will be 
accused of the crime. A capital plan. I'll do it ! (exit) 

* Scene III. Enter Tom. 

Tom., (alone) Christmas has come. Although I am 
none of your pious sort, yet, when Christmas eve ar- 
rives and 1 remember the days of my childhood, my 
heart softenes and a tear steals into my eye. Oh, those 
were beautiful days. How our hearts beat full of hap- 
piness and expectation, when Christmas approached. 
And on Christmas eve mother sent us to bed early and 
said to us : Hang up your stockings, Santa Claus will 
come to-night with his long gray beard and a bag full 
of toys and sweats. We stuck our heads under the quilts, 
shivering with terror, joy and expectation, and waited 
with bated breath for the coming of Santa Claus. All 
at once the bell rang. Timidly we uncovered our heads, 
crawled out of bed and ran downstairs into the front 
room. There the Christmas tree stood all ablaze in the 
glory of ever so many candles. We danced around it 
shouting for joy and clapping our hands in our childish 
glee. And then we looked at our stockings and found 
our presents. Oh, it was a happy time, the days of our 

childhood, and they will never return. I have 

bought a little present for Hannah, a gold ring. I've 
got it right here in the pocket of my coat, (puts his 
hand into thepocjcet) What's this ? (takes out the pocket. 



37 

book) Well, I never ! {opens it) And full of money, too ! 
Is it possible that Santa Claus ? — No, foolishness, 
when a man has passed the age of twenty-one, he does 
not believe in such nonsense any more. 

Scene I V. Enter Hannah. 

Hannah. Ah, here you are. T was just looking for 
you. You told me this afternoon that you wanted to 
tell me something. 

Tom. And so I do. 

Hannah. Well then, out with it. 

Tom. You see this is Christmas eve. And I have a 
little Christmas present for you. 

Hannah. Indeed ? 

Tom. Yes, here it is. (shows her a little box.) 

Hannah, (opens it) Oh, what a splendid ring, {puts 
it on) It fits me exactly, too. 

Tom. I know the exact size of your little paw. 

Hannah. I am very much obliged to you, Tom. I 
have a present for you too. But you must wait till to- 
morrow morning, before you get it. It is in my trunk. 

Tom. That shows that you have thought of me too. 

Hannah. Indeed I have. 

Tom. You love me just a little bit, do you not ? 

Hannah. No. 

Tom. Now, don't be cruel, dear. 

Hannah. No, I don't love you a little bit, because — 

Tom. Because ? — 

Hannah. Because I love you a great deal. Ever 
since you saved me from Michael, I have felt entirely 
different toward you. 

Tom. Hurrah ! I must kiss you for that ! (kisses her) 
And you will become my wife, won't you, dear ? 

Hannah. I suppose I'll have to now. 

Tom. Hurrah ! I must kiss you again, (kisses her) 
But now I must go to Mr. Russel at once and show him 
this pocket-book full of money. I found it in my coat 
and don't know how it got there. 

Hannah. Perhaps it is a Christmas present for you 
from Mr. Russel. 

Tom. If it is, he can tell me so. If it is not, I have 
no right to keep it. 



-38 

Hannah. That's so Tom. Honesty is the best policy. 

Tom. Then come with me. It is almost midnight, 
but I hope we will find Mr. Russel still up. {Exeunt 
Torn and Hannah) 

The moon appears through the open window and shines 
full upon the stage. The orchestra plays weird music; 
through it sounds the refrain of a distant church chime. 

Scene V Enter Russel walking in his sleep. He 
passes across the stage, looking and acting towards the 
moon, then exit. 

Scene VI. Miter Paul. 

Paul. Now I must make my round through the brew- 
ery, and then I will retire. To-morrow morning I will 
go to my sweet Cora. My present will surely delight 
her. (exit taking a bunch of kegs hanging at the wall) 

Scene VII. Enter Michael, (crouching behind a 
brewing tank) He mentioned her name. His doom is 
sealed. When he returns I will do it. Yes, by all that's 
damned, I will do it ! 

Scene VIII Paul, (returns and replaces keys) Ev- 
erything seems to be in good order. The fires in the 
furnace are low, all the doors are securely locked. Now 
I can go to sleep. 

While Paul speaks, Michael drains his knife and ad- 
vances towards Paul to stab him. At this moment Mus- 
sel returns still walking in his sleep. At the moment of 
RusseV s entrance the orchestra resumes its music. Be- 
fore Michael has reached Paul, the bells of the neighbor- 
ing church begin to toll as they did in the first act. Mus- 
sel awakes and at once perceives Michael in the act of 
stabbing Paul, who is about to walk away. The whole 
scene is lighted by the moon. 

Russel. (rushes at Michael and stays his hand) Hold ! 
Would you kill your brother ! 

Michael, (flies with a cry of rage) 

Russel. (sinks to his knees and then upon the floor ', 
partly sustained by Paul) 

Change of Scene. Parlor in Russel' s house. 

Scene IX. Mrs. Russel, Paul, Rose, Alfred, and 
Cora. 

Tom. (enters with a, letter in his hand) The letter- 
carrier brought this just now. 



39 

Mrs. Pussel. A letter with a black seal. It must 
contain some sad news. Oh, my son Michael ! — 

Paul. Let me read it for you, dear mother, {takes 
the letter) 

Tom,, (exit) 

Paul. You know, dear mother, we all feel sadly the 
gloomy shadow caused by my brother's disappearance. 
Compose yourself. At last we will have some certain 
news, (opens the letter and reads with apparent agitation) 

Mrs. Pussel. What does it say, Paul ? 

Paul, (deeply moved) Have courage, mother, courage. 

Mrs. Pussel. The sudden paleness of your face tells 
me more plainly than words, that some terrible fate has 
overtaken my unhappy son — your hands tremble, oh, is 
it true then ? 

Paul, (through tears) It is but too true. This is a 
letter from the Coroner, announcing, that his body has 
been found in the river. Although — he sought to take 
my life, the news of his death touches me deeply. 

Pose, (embracing Mrs. Mussel) Poor mother, he was 
your child. This blow strikes you harder than any of us. 

Mrs. Pussel. (weeps silently) 

Pose. Paul and I will strive to make you forget 
your sorrows 

Paul. But father — how can we communicate this 
terrible news to him ? He has but just risen from his 
sick-bed. I fear, when he hears this news, he will have 
a serious relapse. 

Mrs. Pussel. (with dicision) We must not tell him 
until he has grown stronger. 

Alfred. But in consequence of this sad occurrence, 
it will be necessary to postpone the betrothals which 
we intended to celebrate to-day, and what reason can 
we give him for that ? 

Mrs. Pussel. No, no, my children. There must be 
no postponement. He would at once suspect the true 
cause of it. And you know r the physicians said, the 
slightest excitement might be fatal. No, let the be- 
trothals take place. We can mourn in our hearts for 
Michael's unhappy fate. 

Scene X. Pussel, supported by Tom and Hannah 
enters, and sits down upon an arm-chair. The others 
aid him and form a half circle about him. 

Pussel. My children, I am happy to be able once 
more to be in your midst, and to participate in the hap- 



40 

py event of the betrothal of my children. Your happi- 
ness has already too long been postponed by my sick- 
ness. One member of our family is absent. But it is 
better that he should. For by his conduct, he has for- 
feited all claim to our affection. Children, come nearer, 
that I may bless you. You, my dear wife, come to me 
first, and then we together will bless our children, {takes 
Catherine's hand) Paul, my son. You are good and 
diligent, and your bride is a pure, sweet girl. Make 
her happy. May you live as happily with her, as I have 
been with your mother, (to Alfred) Alfred, by marry- 
ing my daughter, you become my son. Yours is a dis- 
cerning, powerful mind. You have been greatly instru- 
mental in restoring to me the peace of my soul. Take 
my daughter, she will be a true companion to you in 
sorrow and joy, as her mother has been to me. Be 
happy all of you. While he speaks, he places Hose'$ 
hand in that of Alfred, and Cora's in that of Paul. 
Tom takes Hannah's hand. 



THE CURTAIN FALLS. 



Finis. 



dfl 



I MW»SZ. C0NGRE ss 



